


and i'll be yours to keep

by taizi



Series: if this is fate [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Promptis Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-05-24 22:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: Noctis wanted to say, “I missed you.”He wanted to say, “I’m sorry.”He wanted to say, “I love you so much,god.”But the only words he could find were “You’re here.” And it was wonderful and it was impossible and it was a miracle, and it was worth saying again. “Prom, Prom, you’rehere."





	1. wherever you're going i'm going your way

**Author's Note:**

> for promptis week this year i'm writing a continuation of my [reincarnation au](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081637/chapters/32443224) ! you'll want to read that one first :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 1; first kiss

For as long as Noctis could remember, there was always a sense of impending -- _something_. A sense that wherever he was, he wasn’t quite there yet.

Too strange to put it into words, but maybe he hung his heart on that idea. The idea that one day he would turn a corner and find himself in the right place, with the right people.

The idea that, whatever else he was supposed to be, he wasn’t supposed to be alone.

 

* * *

 

When he was younger, Noctis made friends with a boy in his class named Peregrine.

They were inseparable for most of two years; had sleepovers and weekend adventures, whispered secrets to each other that they wouldn’t tell anyone else. Noctis’ mom and dad always traded pleased smiles when Noctis would regale them with stories of Per at the dinner table.

Noctis was a quiet child, nervous in a crowd, sometimes couldn’t come up with anything to say when the conversation turned to him -- but with Per, that was never a problem. Per filled up all the silence with fun and mischief, sweeping Noctis along and never leaving him behind.

He was the easiest person Noctis had ever been friends with. They just clicked. Almost as though Noctis looked at him -- at his blond hair and freckles and the crooked smile that got him into trouble as easily as it got him out of it again -- and thought ‘This is it.’

And then, sometime in junior high, a girl transferred into their school. She was overweight and painfully shy, and Noctis felt a surge of empathy towards her -- he was shy like that, too, even if being next to Per all the time made most of their classmates forget.

And he turned to Per, with ideas of inviting her to sit at their table at lunch, and found his best friend already in the middle of laughing behind his hands at her. Leaning over to Noctis’ desk with that impish grin and whispering, “I didn’t know they let _cows_ into our school.”

Like it was hilarious and effortless to be so thoughtlessly mean. Noctis felt like the floor fell out from beneath him, felt _betrayed,_ because Per wouldn’t say that. Per would never say that. Per was always kind behind the mischief, always sweet in an unobtrusive way, he would have been the first to make friends with the girl, with a friendly smile and pretty blue eyes --

But no, that wasn’t right. Per’s eyes were green. The person Noctis thought was his friend was someone else entirely. And he was too old to cry but he went straight to his mother after school and hid in her arms and let his heart break into about a million pieces, because he’d built his whole world on the wrong boy.

“I don’t understand, sweetheart,” mom said, worried and upset for him, “what do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Noctis told her miserably, fourteen years old and devastated, phone chiming with texts he refused to read. “He’s not -- who I thought he was.”

And it was such an important thing to have gotten wrong. There was a big hole beside him now, a hole that was never Per’s to fill. An absence that bled all over his life, a loneliness that followed him around like a stray.

And maybe he never really got over that.

 

* * *

 

‘Poor Noct,’ Carbuncle would say, a familiar fox-like figure in his dreams. It would rub its jeweled head against his hand, eyes all liquid and sad. ‘I’m sorry you’re lonely. You should never be lonely.’

And in the dreamscape, Noctis felt -- a little different. A little older. He would sit there and talk to Carbuncle like they were old friends, the recurring dream of a strange little animal a simple routine.

‘When you’re bigger,’ Carbuncle would say, ‘you’ll have to go find them. It’s only fair, don’t you think? They followed you to the very end last time. Now it’s your turn.’

When he woke up, he would have a hundred more questions. While he was dreaming, he could only ever think of one:

“Where do I go?” Noctis would ask, and Carbuncle would tell him.

 

* * *

 

His parents were more than a little surprised that his first and only choice of university was more than halfway across the country, but Noctis wouldn’t be budged. He applied, he got in, and he packed his bags. Signed up for classes on his phone on the plane.

Stupid, a cowardly part of his brain supplied. Stupid to throw your life away on a want and a wish and a silly dream.

Mom came with him, worry in her eyes, to help him get settled in a lavish one-bedroom apartment just a brisk walk from campus. She stayed with him for most of a week and Noctis knew she was waiting for him to break, to tell her what was wrong the way he always ultimately did. They never talked about Per, about the fallout with Per, but Noctis wasn’t foolish enough to think she would have forgotten something like that, something that shaped such a large part of the distrustful, suspicious person Noctis grew up to be.

“You can always come home,” mom said, touching his hair, “you know that.”

He did know. Their doors would always be open to him, when he got this stupid stint out of his system the way he figured his parents were probably hoping he would. But their house, as warm and welcoming as it always would be, wasn’t home. Maybe it wasn’t ever home.

Because according to every dream Noctis ever had, home was something waiting for him _here._

‘You’ll know it when you see it,’ Carbuncle told him, the last thing it ever told him. ‘I’ll help you.’

 

* * *

 

Noctis went to school, and got invited study groups on Saturday nights with a few people from a few of his classes, and new numbers found their way into his phone. Faces that became familiar, voices he could pick out of a crowd. Not quite friends, but -- company. A buffer to the empty feeling. A bridge across the water to the island Noctis lived on, all alone.

It wasn’t enough, but it was more than Noctis had let himself have since junior high.

“God, dude,” a guy in his statistics class groaned once, “you’re impossible.”

“Here it goes,” a woman put in, rolling her eyes.

“No, shut up, you have to agree with me here. He’s, like -- like a tragic prince or some shit. His family is probably old money, they probably own like a fuckin’-- fuckin’ seaside property up the east coast somewhere and ride horses around on a beach, and here Noct is, slumming it at school, looking wistfully out windows and reciting poetry in his head.”

That was so close to accurate that Noctis squinted at him a little bit. “Gregory, did you Google me?”

“No. Holy shit, did I -- was I _right?”_

“I don’t recite poetry in my head.”

“But the -- the thing with the beach and the horses?”

The rest of their little study group laughed, until the librarian was shooting their corner table a dirty look, and the woman sitting next to him shook her head. Noctis felt a little sorry that he forgot her name when she gave him a slanting smile.

"You know, Noct, one of these days you’re gonna have to break and let us know a little more about you. You can’t be an enigma forever.”

Wouldn’t that be nice, Noctis thought. Knowing people -- being _known_ by people -- was so scary and wonderful an idea that his mind shied away from it like a bird startled into flight.

 

* * *

 

Almost a year since the last time they spoke, Carbuncle was waiting for Noctis in the foyer of his apartment.

But almost immediately, that was _wrong,_ because Noctis just got home from a seminar, Noctis was nowhere near the vicinity of dreaming, so how on earth could the creature be _there?_

Carbuncle tipped its head, studying him with those dark, intelligent eyes, and Noctis could feel his heart beating in his throat. Opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, when suddenly Carbuncle was moving.

It darted through the room, past Noctis’ ankles. Noctis spun on his heel and was just in time to catch the tip of its tail disappearing out the living room window.

Noctis did the only thing it occurred to him to do.

He followed at a run.

Threw himself down the hall, down two flights of stairs, out into the mostly empty-sidewalk as the sun dipped lower in the sky, spilling dusk in rich warm colors across the street.

Carbuncle was sitting on the other side of the street, tail swishing energetically. No one walked into him, busy feet missing him by a few inches in some cases. It seemed pretty obvious that no one else could see the silvery animal. It’s appearance was strange enough that at least one person should have done a double-take, but no one did.

A moment stretched between them, unbroken. Carbuncle, Noctis’ oldest friend, waited for him to move.

He moved, a running step forward, and the chase began again.

Noctis had no idea what the hell he was doing -- but there might as well have been a cord tied to his breastbone, tugging him in the direction he was going, and stopping or turning around would have been _impossible_ or at least very painful.

Good thing Noctis had no intention of stopping or turning around.

 

* * *

 

The city park was pretty in the fading light. A sprawling lot of land next to a river shimmering like glass, and a young man with a big white dog and a heavy camera, taking pictures of the water.

And it was there that Carbuncle finally stopped, parking itself primly at the young man’s feet. It didn’t speak -- maybe it couldn’t outside the dreamscape it was supposed to live in -- and Noctis had about a thousand questions.

“Carbuncle,” he started, a name he’d never called out loud before, and only remembered belatedly what it must have looked like to the stranger, talking to the empty air at his feet.

He lifted his eyes reluctantly, wondering how he would explain himself, and wide blue eyes stared back at him. The camera dangled around his neck like it slipped out of his hands, and his lips were parted in surprise, and Noctis knew him. Noctis knew him the same intimate way a person knows their own name.

Prompto.

The color of his hair, and the shape of his eyes, and the constellation of freckles across the bridge of his nose. The look on his face when he looked at Noctis, like he was looking at something too good to be true. The way his arms fell open at the same time Noctis fell toward him, the way they crashed into each other, the way their hands snatched and grabbed and pulled closer like it wasn't enough.

Like they’d been here before a thousand times already. Like this closeness was one they took for granted in another life. Noctis held him, and Noctis _knew_ him, and Noctis loved him so much it didn’t make sense.

And when he started to cry, the sobs came wrenching out of him like a wild, wounded animal, and it was joy and it was pain and it was grief, all wrapped up together into something aching and vicious and proud, and Noctis wanted to say, “I missed you.”

He wanted to say, “I’m sorry.”

He wanted to say, “I love you so much, _god_.”

But the only words he could find were “You’re here.” And it was wonderful and it was impossible and it was a miracle, and it was worth saying again. “Prom, Prom, you’re _here._ ”

Per would have wrinkled his nose when the tears started coming -- would have made space between their bodies until Noctis’ ugly display was over, and then a joke to brush the whole thing aside -- but Prompto held on like it was his job to, like any space between their bodies would be a crime.

And he laughed, and even wet and tearful the sound was so familiar Noctis had to wonder how he’d never heard it before.

 

* * *

 

They walked back to where Prompto lived, hand in hand, the big dog’s leash wrapped around Prompto’s opposite wrist, but it took them a long time to get there.

Not because it was very far, but because every other minute Noctis was tugging Prompto to a stop -- turning him around to look at him, touching his hair or the graceful curve of his cheek, counting and recounting his freckles even though he knew -- somehow, he knew -- how many there were.

“We just met, but I’ve missed you my whole life,” Noctis said, slow and careful, because baring his heart was something he was unpracticed at, but he didn’t know how not to give Prompto absolutely everything. “How is that possible? What else don’t I remember?”

Prompto smiled, and it was devastating. It touched something in Noctis’ heart that was starved for touch. 

“There’s only one thing you need to remember, Noct.”

Prompto took his hands, tangling their fingers with such intimate certainty that Noctis realized they must have stood together like this before.

“You’re someone worth waiting for.”

 

* * *

 

The very first kiss of Noctis’ life comes when he’s twenty-one years old, beneath a buzzing streetlight on a busy sidewalk. Prompto smells like dark roast coffee, tastes like something much sweeter, and kisses Noctis like he’s been waiting his whole life to.

And it feels like coming home. 


	2. we're all just broken pieces trying to fit somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 2; “i wish that i knew what makes you think i’m so special.”

“You’ll have to go back to school eventually, Noct,” Gladio says, sounding amused, and Noctis shoots him as much of a Look as he’s capable of around a mouthful of egg frittata. “Hey, don’t gimme attitude. You’re gonna flunk out at this rate.”

“Didn’t you have work today Gladio?” Ignis remarks calmly from the kitchen sink. Gladio rubs the back of his neck, finding something else to look at, and Noctis mumbles out a “ _hah.”_

Prompto is wrist-deep in soapy water, helping Ignis clean breakfast dishes, and at this point he lets go of a guilty-sounding giggle. “I think I’m a bad influence on you guys. I used to have to _beg_ just to see the chocobos, and now you’re playing hooky to hang out with me.”

He says it with plenty of good humor, but Noctis watches Ignis look pained, and Gladio’s jaw clench. And he thinks he remembers what they do; speeding past an inviting sign and bright yellow awnings — shooting Prompto down nine times out of ten, though not unkindly, because business came first — always promising _‘next time, Prom.’_

And Noctis kind of hates the king he was in another life. You had so little time, he wants to demand of that king, why did you waste even a _second_ of it? What would five minutes have cost you, _five minutes_ to make that road trip from hell a little brighter for the best friend you strung along?

“C’mere,” Noctis says abruptly, pushing the rest of his food away.

Prompto finishes wiping down the last bowl and hands it off to Ignis to dry, and crosses the small kitchen to Noctis agreeably. Noctis tugs him down to sit on his lap instead of the empty chair a foot away, and Ignis and Gladio don’t even look longsuffering at the display -- which is fair, Noctis thinks, because _their_ adjustment period probably involved a lot of the same thing.

“What do you want to do today?” Noctis asks. Prompto, taller than him in this position, smiles down at him crookedly, but Ignis beats him to it.

“As much as it pains me to admit, Gladio has a point,” Ignis says, folding his dishtowel primly. “I suppose even a broken clock is right two times a day.”

“Hey,” Gladio protests, every bit as though his arm isn’t wrapped comfortably around Ignis’ waist.

“What, about classes?” Noctis says. “Iggy, I don’t care about that. The only reason I came to school here was to find all of you. Now that I have you -- “

It’s hard to explain how little anything else matters. Ignis looks at him, and the playful arrogance fades into an expression Noctis almost can’t stand to look at. He doesn’t know how to be so important to someone without having done something incredible to have earned it.

He doesn’t think the king he used to be did much to earn it. He was just given all these bright and wonderful things, all these bright and wonderful people, because it was his due. And for whatever reason they loved him, and picked him over everything else again and again and again, and never wavered even when their loyalty cost them their eyes, or their mental health, or their pride -- and as thanks Noctis led them down a miserable, dead-end road, and then left them behind.

Prompto says, “Hey, Noct, it’s okay. We’re not going anywhere.”

Noctis’ grip on Prompto tightens, and he looks down quickly when he realizes his eyes are hot.

“I could go with you,” Prompto suggests brightly. He’s combing through Noctis’ hair with his fingers, and it seems to loosen all the tense muscles in Noctis’ body one by one. “I don’t have any pictures of the campus yet! I think my boss was talking about doing a piece on recent administration changes at the uni, anyway, and a nice shot of the quad would be perfect for that.”

“I just -- “ Noctis stops short, hating how hard this is. “I know it’s stupid, but -- “

“Nah,” Gladio says, softer than usual. “Kinda feels like a dream, right? And if you let us out of your sight, we’ll disappear. We get it.”

“It _has_ only been a week,” Ignis concedes. “Forgive me. I’m sure you can access most of your work online, anyway.”

Prompto leans in and whispers _“Score”_ and the three of them together are just enough to unpack the weight stacked on Noctis’ heart, just enough that he can let it all go on a sigh and smile.  

But it’s not until later, when it’s just him and Prompto and Tiny piled on the sofa together, watching stupid daytime television, that Noctis feels brave enough to try again.

“You came out of nowhere, you know?” he says slowly, eyes trained on a commercial he’s not really seeing. “And now that you’re here, I don’t know how to live without you.”

There’s a beat, and he can feel Prompto’s eyes on the side of his face. Steeling himself, Noctis goes on, “I’m not your king this time around. I’m not -- not the chosen one, or the prince of prophecy.” His face burns a little at each ridiculous title. “I believe what you’ve told me -- and I remember a little bit, though not as much as Iggy and Gladio do. I know that I was those things _once,_ but I’m -- I’m not anymore.”

His hands are shaking. He doesn’t talk this much. Tiny puts her head on his knee and he buries fingers in her soft ruff, happy to have the small distraction.

“I -- love you,” he whispers, “and I know you -- you love me, but aren't I just -- piggybacking on your memories of someone else? It feels like cheating. King Noct’s the one who earned you, but I’m the one who gets to have you.”

Prom’s voice comes out sharp. “Noct -- “

“I’m not saying I don’t want you, or that I’m not happy -- I _do_ , I _am_ \-- but I'm not -- I'm not that hero you loved before. I'm just -- some guy. And I wish that I knew what makes you think I’m so special so I -- so I can try to live up to that."

Tiny gets pushed off his lap unceremoniously, and Prompto's hands land on Noctis' arms, tugging him around, until they're face to face and there's no escape from Prompto's eyes. He was a soldier once, and he remembers more than any of the rest of them do -- he remembers  _everything_ \-- and this sharp, heated edge to him looks fresh home from war. Draped in a soft secondhand blanket, hair pinned back under colorful little kid barrettes, Prompto manages to look fierce. 

"I didn't fall in love with a king," he says, measured, "or the chosen one, or the prince of prophecy. You were more than that, Noct. I know you had a lot to live up to, but to me, you were more than what the gods decided you should be. You were my friend, my  _best_ friend. You still are. You don't have to be anything special to be special."

Noctis finds his hands, grips him tight. Wanting to believe it could be that easy, that love could be so enduring. "Even though I'm just--? I mean, you have to admit, it's not an impressive trade-off."

"Hey, I'd choose being lazy in front of the TV over picking fights with heavenly bodies any day of the week. King Noct would have, too. Prophecies suck."

It startles a laugh out of him, a little wet and wobbly, and Prompto grins back. And it's -- enough.

For now, it's enough.


	3. let's start making up for lost time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 4; "please don't leave me."  
>  ~~i skipped day 3, rip~~

_“How are things going, sweetheart?”_ mom says. Her voice sounds a little tinny over the phone, but Noctis can tell she’s happy he picked up her call. _“We haven’t heard from you in awhile.”_

“Things are good,” Noctis tells her, meaning it. “I’ve been doing really good.”

Prompto and Gladio are in his living room, snooping through his DVDs and being as gleefully obnoxious about it as they can, while Noctis fills a suitcase with clean clothes and textbooks. He didn’t bring much with him from home when he moved here for college, and there’s not much in his apartment that he would be sorry to live without, so the job is a quick one.

He sits on the bed, reaching up to hold his phone properly instead of cradling it between shoulder and cheek, and his mom says, _“You’re coming to visit for the holiday, aren’t you? You know how much your father loves fireworks, he’s organizing one of those big parties again this year.”_

“He has a big party every year,” Noctis can’t help pointing out, feeling something in his chest slouch a little. He always hated the noise and bustle of the party that always dragged on a full weekend -- the strangers coming and going from his house and yard, the mealtimes that meant dodging conversation and distant relatives’ nosy questions. “I dunno, mom. I might be busy.”

It’s the wrong thing to say when it gives her pause. Her silence is hardly more than a few seconds long, but she’s so rarely at a loss for words that Noctis wonders if he just wandered into a minefield.

But all she says is, in a careful sort of tone, _“Are you sure, baby? It might be nice to come home. You know how much we miss you.”_

Noct misses his parents, too, but probably not as much as he should. Not as much as he thought he would, when he moved to this city on his own, without anyone he knew. He has Prompto and Ignis and Gladio now, and he’s greedy for more time with them wherever he can find it, and --

And the thought of going all the way back home -- putting all those miles and miles between them -- spending a week whole _time zones_ apart -- puts a lump in Noctis’ throat that it’s hard to breathe around.

In the living room, Prompto laughs -- the sound is muffled through the wall but it still carries brightly, the way sunshine can spill through the smallest crack in the curtain and brighten a whole room -- and Noctis knows, he _knows,_ that he can’t leave him. Even just for a little while.

He can’t.

Maybe when they’ve been together a little while longer. When Noctis has had more mornings and afternoons and evenings with them -- when he’s woken up in the middle of a large bed too many times to count, with arms around him and Prompto’s face tucked against his collarbone -- when he can watch Gladio walk out or Ignis get dressed for work and not feel a nauseating little thrill of fear that it’s the last time he’ll see them, when the first words that try to leave his lips are "see you later" instead of "please don't leave me."

They’d never leave him. They invited him into this comfortable two-story home as if it was built to house the five it does, as if there was always room for Noctis here, and he didn’t even need to ask. Noctis has an ugly imagination at the best of times, but even he can’t imagine these three ever walking out on him.

But it’s still so _new._ In another life, he took them for granted, and lost them so early. In this one, he was late finding them, but he’ll be damned if he’s not going to keep them. He wants every minute, every hour, every day with them that he didn’t get to have before.

He wants every kiss with Prompto he didn’t get to have before. He wants more than that.

Noctis isn’t putting anything before him this time. Prom’s going to get the best of him, the best of the best person he can be. Noctis wants to be the man Prompto loved, and he wants to be _better._

“I’ll think about it, mom,” Noctis says into the phone, not really meaning it. “Promise.”

 

* * *

 

They’re barely home when Prompto gets a phone call of his own. Trying to fend Tiny off his person, Prom answers on the second ring with a flustered kind of urgency that has Noctis looking at him sidelong.

Gladio catches Noctis’ eye and mouths, “Talcott’s school.”

“Hello?” Prompto’s face folds at whatever the voice on the other end has to say, and he demands, “Is he okay? Yeah — I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“What’s up?” Gladio asks.

“Tal’s got a fever and his guardians aren’t picking up the phone,” Prompto says. He’s already patting his pockets, making sure his keys and wallet are there. “Gladdy, could you hit up the bodega for some Benadryl and, like, crackers?”

“Crackers,” Noct parrots.

“I dunno, what do kids’ parents feed them when they’re sick?”

After a beat of silence that hangs a little too heavy, Gladio says, “Let’s just leave that part up to Iggy. I’ll call him.”

And Noctis hangs back, petting Tiny. He has a new appreciation for the report card hanging in a place of pride on the fridge, the second bedroom door with a drawing of a cactuar taped to it at a child’s eye level.

"Sorry, Noct," Prompto says, looking genuine. They had vague plans to go to the movies later. "I gotta go get him."

Prompto has never had a lot -- there were times, once their journey started, that Prompto only ever had a camera and a good attitude to his name -- but he doesn’t mind sharing what little is his. He’s so used to going without that it probably doesn’t occur to him to be selfish for a change. 

Two childhoods in two empty houses, and it only makes sense that he'd keep his door open now. Leave a light on for people living the way he lived. 

To Prom, Noctis thinks, a treasure is the type of thing that gets brighter the more it’s passed around. Something that earns its worth along the way. And a house is just a house until it's full of people you want to come home to at the end of the day.

Noctis shakes his head, feeling so fond it's a little ridiculous. "Let's go get him," he says. 

 

* * *

 

Talcott's face is burnt red, his eyes glassy, and the happy "Hi Prom!" he manages comes out as little more than a weak rasp.

Prompto's already crossing the room to the narrow little cot, his voice soldier sharp again when he says, "Why didn't you call me sooner?"

The school nurse looks miserable. "He took a turn for the worse about an hour ago. I've done what I can," she goes on, indicating the sweating glass of orange juice, and the cold compress that slips off Talcott's damp forehead as Prompto helps him sit up, "but we have to have written consent from the parents to administer medication, and his guardians never signed that form. We've been trying to contact them all afternoon."

Prompto relents visibly in face of her honest contrition, folding down and packing away that heated temper for another time and place. For Talcott, he summons a warm smile.

"You look pretty rough, buddy," he says. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Home?" Talcott asks hopefully.

"Of course home," Prompto says with teasing incredulity. "I bet Iggy would make you some of his famous chicken and mushroom soup if we ask him real nice." 

_"Really?"_

"We won't know till we get there!" 

Talcott insists that he can walk, and Prompto insists Noctis is the best at piggy-back rides, and even the nurse is smiling when Talcott finally gives in with a lot less reluctance than he would probably like the adults to believe. While they're figuring that out, Prompto hangs back to have a conversation in quiet undertones with the nurse, who nods quickly and hurries to her desk, where she produces a blank form.

"Thanks," he says, sounding like he means it, folding the form into quarters and sticking it in his back pocket. Then, noticing Noctis and Talcott, hanging koala-like off Noctis' back, are both watching him with open curiosity, he puffs up in a mockery of indignation. "What are you two looking at! A guy has to have  _some_ secrets, you know!"

But Noctis sees the form again later, when Talcott is full of soup and fast asleep in his bedroom and Tiny is keeping guard over him from the foot of his bed. Prompto lays it out in front of Ignis and smooths it flat, says, "What can I do about this?" in a way that makes it clear this is his problem. Ignis hums thoughtfully as he reads it, and Gladio stands up and volunteers Noctis to help him with the dinner dishes.

In a low voice, Noctis says, "Hey, Gladio -- Talcott's foster parents -- "

"They ain't bad," Gladio says immediately, knowing right where Noct's mind is going. "Not in the sense of hurting him just for the sake of it, anyway. They're busy. Spread themselves too thin, y'know? They were tryin' to do right when they took him in, but he'd have been better off somewhere else."

"Like here?" Noctis hedges. Gladio catches his eye and grins.

"If you don't think Ignis has already started the paperwork," the big man says in a conspiring tone, "you got another think coming."

 

* * *

 

Talcott stays for the rest of the week. Prompto fields a call from his foster parents exactly one time, and gets so frustrated that he shoves the phone in Ignis' direction and leaves the whole room to join his kid and his dog in the middle of their Disney marathon.

"When it was me it was  _different,_ " he tries to explain tersely, far from Talcott's earshot. "This is  _Tal._ He had a family that loved him, he shouldn't have to settle for less than that because his grandpa died. Why take in a kid if you don't even want him?"

As far as Noctis is concerned, a younger Prompto shouldn't have had to settle for less, either. But it gets him thinking. And he fields the idea with Ignis and Gladio, who look a little surprised, and then accepting. And he calls his parents, to make sure it's okay with them, and gets a delighted affirmative. And then all he has to do is summon nerve enough to broach the topic with Prom. 

Prom has a home here, full of family, and he's every bit as loved as he deserves. But -- there's a deficit to make up for, Noct thinks. Those cumulative hours and days and weeks he spent being lonely that Noctis wishes he could rub out of the ledger. 

You can never have too much family, Noctis thinks. And maybe you can have more than one place to call home. And maybe -- 

Maybe it would be nice for Prompto to have people like parents in his life, for a change. Noct's mom and dad will love him, Noct is sure, and if they don't adopt him on the spot it's only because it would make things a little weird considering the relationship he's in with their son. Imagining the look on Prompto's face -- imagining him at the dinner table, on the back porch, on dad's fishing boat; curled up with Noct in his childhood bedroom, walking through Noct's hometown, kissing him in all the places he was lonely as a child -- erases any lingering indecision Noctis might have been holding onto. 

"Prom," he says at the breakfast table, two days after coming up with the idea, "come meet the rest of my family."

Ignis smiles at the way he words it, clearly a 'well done.' Gladio's grinning, too, but probably more at the startled expression Prompto's wearing, frozen with his coffee halfway to his lips. 

"What?" he says eloquently. Then, "Wait, really?" A pleased pink is staining his cheeks, a bashful smile creeping wider inch by inch. "Noct, you -- you're just trying to trick me into going fishing with you."

"There's no trick," Noctis says, beaming back at him. "You're  _definitely_ going fishing with me."


	4. bring back a good story to tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 5; meeting regis for the first time as a couple

His hometown looks exactly the same as Noctis left it. Noctis himself feels much different.

They’re collecting more than a few looks as they make their meandering way through downtown. The duffel bag over his shoulder isn’t heavy, and the larger suitcase rolls, so Noctis suggested walking home instead of calling a cab. Prompto, with his ever-present camera hanging ready around his neck, agreed with gusto.

It feels like he’s taken three photos for every one step, those artist’s eyes of his catching on innocuous street corners and hand-painted storefront windows. It’s more than mundane to Noctis, who could walk these sidewalks backwards and blindfolded, but Prompto’s enthusiasm is catching.

“Take a shot from here,” Noct finds himself saying, pointing out the birds perched on a wire above the street, and the little dog tied outside the corner grocery, and the cluster of tables outside the cafe on the corner.

Prompto takes each suggested shot, grinning behind his viewfinder. At some point, he frees up one hand and drops it between their bodies. Noctis threads their fingers together without thinking, and he’s pretty sure he’s not imagining it when Prompto’s smile gets brighter by whole degrees.

If it makes people stare a little more, their gazes heavy and lingering -- well, he thought it would happen. He spent most of the flight worrying about exactly this -- the potential miasma of a small, conservative town, and what he would do if it started to sour their holiday -- but he probably could have saved his energy.

Now that they’re here, and Noctis is hand-in-hand with Prompto, guiding him through the place he grew up, with his parents waiting for them at home, it’s -- surprising, how little anyone else’s opinion of it actually matters.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t really occur to Noctis until they’re standing at the front door, and Noctis is letting himself in, and Prompto makes a strangled-sounding squeak at the man waiting for them in the foyer, that, oh, right, as far as Prompto’s probably concerned, Noct’s embarrassing, Hawaiian-shirt wearing dad is a former king.

Aw, Prom, he wants to say, torn between sympathy and sun-bright amusement, when Prompto can’t successfully string enough words together to introduce himself.

Luckily, dad is capable of something like tact when he chooses to be. He drags them both into a bear hug, Noctis in one arm and Prom in the other, and says, “It’s so good to have you boys here! And you must be Prompto-- Aulea and I have been looking forward to meeting you.”

Noctis gets an arm around his father in turn, trying not to smile at how surprised Prompto is by the warm welcome. It’s not every day you’re hugged by your liege, Noct thinks, and disentangles himself with the ease of years of practice.

Prompto gives him a look of liquid-eyed betrayal that Noctis recognizes from every time Tiny chooses to sit with someone else after dinner, and which he elects to ignore.

“Where _is_ mom? I’m surprised we made it all the way inside.”

“A few of our neighbors couldn’t wait to be the first to tell us that our son brought a boy home for the holiday,” dad says, still radiating hospitality as he steers them down the hall toward the kitchen. “Ally’s been on the phone for the last ten minutes, and so far she’s reduced three separate people to tears.”

Prom coughs out a surprised sound that tries not to be a laugh. Dad catches Noctis’ eye and smiles.

 

* * *

 

Mom descends upon the kitchen twenty-some minutes later like some kind of avenging angel. Prompto looks appropriately cowed by her -- she has that effect on people -- and has about three seconds to get out of his chair to attempt a proper greeting before she beats him to the punch.

She leans over and catches him in a hug -- squeezes tight and rocks side-to-side a bit the way moms do -- and tells him, “Thanks for coming, sweetie. I hope that boy of mine is taking care of you.”

Prom blinks rapidly, hands hovering for a careful moment before daring to land on her back. Noctis wonders when the last time was that a mother held him.

“‘Course he is,” Prompto says, finding his footing in the easy cheer and good nature of Regis and Aulea, mirroring mom’s smile when she finally leans back to look at him. “But I think it’s fair to say Iggy takes care of us both.”

Both his parents perk up a little bit at this nugget of new information -- obviously eager to know more about Noct’s relationships and what he’s been up to, but unwilling to pry and alienate their only son -- and Noctis feels pretty bad about that, actually.

It’s not like Prom and Ignis and Gladio were ever a _secret_. He just wanted to keep them to himself for a little while. He didn’t want to jinx this happiness he found by showing it off too soon.

“More than fair,” Noctis says ruefully.

And he settles in to tell them about everything they’ve missed in his life since he’s been gone. Prompto leans against his shoulder, and scrolls through his phone to punctuate Noct’s stories with the appropriate ridiculous pictures, and his parents eat it all up with the delighted enthusiasm of two people who’ve been really worried for a long time and only just now get to breathe a sigh of relief.

Soon enough, Prom is the one doing most of the talking. He’s filling up the room the way he always does, bright and irrepressible, this stalwart soul that survived darkness and war and death.

Noct watches his parents be charmed by him, the same inevitable way any decent person is charmed by him after five minutes in the same room, and decides that coming home is the best decision he’s made since he decided to move a thousand miles away.


	5. getting lost in the dark is my favorite part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 6; noctis spoiling prompto

Prompto, Noctis has noticed, seems to be down for just about anything. Noctis thinks he could probably ask Prompto for the moon, and Prompto would say, “I’m on it!”

He sits through brunch with Noct’s parents and aunt and uncle gamely, and meets all the neighbors that come by with dishes to refrigerate for the party that night, and when mom breaks out the prized family photo album -- because _of course_ she does -- Noct’s loud “absolutely not” is drowned out by Prompto’s even louder “hell _yeah.”_

The first time they were young together, Prompto was much different. That Prompto couldn’t have done this. His social anxiety was a monster he only bested half the time -- Noctis can’t imagine how he managed to force himself through the Crownsguard training and all the state functions, how he was able to be Noct’s friend even with the intense scrutiny that brought on him.

This time, this Prompto is doing fine. He has moments of sweet shyness, but he never seems to flounder. He’s here because Noctis asked him to come, and he’s doing his best to make a good impression, but there’s a look on his face behind the polite smile that Noctis _knows._

It’s his helping-Talcott-with-history-homework look. His taking-the-phone-when-Iggy’s-mother-calls look. A look that says “This is awful, but I’m doing it for you.”

Noctis has to remind himself sternly that his parents wouldn’t appreciate it if he seized his boyfriend in the middle of dinner and kissed him senseless. It almost doesn’t work.

 

* * *

 

It’s getting darker, the porch lights stark against the vivid blue-black sky, and that means it’s almost time for the party to move outside. Noctis leads Prompto across the flagstone pavers, down the sloping yard, toward the dock. A two-story boathouse sits innocuously beside the water, one of Noctis’ favorite places in the world, and his heart is beating quickly when he tugs Prompto inside.

Prompto gasps, a soft sound, when he sees the small yacht.

“I’m not a boat guy,” he says plainly, “but I love this boat.”

Noctis could rattle off the specs if he thought for a second that’s what Prompto was interested in, but he knows better.

It’s probably the name that curves along the aft port, the bold black lettering that reads _The Regalia_ that has Prompto half-smiling, half-awed. He lets Noctis pull him aboard, and runs a reverent hand along the rail when he thinks Noctis isn’t looking.

The automatic doors roll up and Noctis steers them out, music pouring out of the stereo and across the water as they go. They’re not alone on the lake, since a few of Noct’s neighbors must have had the same idea, but there’s plenty more privacy here than there was at the house.

“Well, you’ve got me where you want me,” Prompto says glibly from where he’s leaned against the back of the helm chair. “Now what? Night fishing?”

“Nope.” Noctis turns the chair around, dislodging him. “Fireworks. They'll start in about an hour."

Prompto’s eyes get round and excited, and he tips his head back to look up at the quickly darkening sky with new appreciation. “Oh _man,_ your dad was talking about them earlier, but I didn’t know they were gonna be _here!_ Dude, we're gonna have the perfect view!"

He's happy. There's a light on in his face that Noctis put there. Something heavy turns over in Noctis' chest, and his heart is still racing.

He turns the engine off and stands up, taking Prompto's hands. He leads the way toward the bow, where there's sunken seating and sunpads, going slowly so Prompto doesn't trip in the dark. He pushes Prompto down onto the seats, straddles his hips, and there's no mistaking his intentions now. 

"Oh," Prompto says softly, staring up at Noctis with the world in his eyes. He doesn't get another chance to talk for awhile. 

 

* * *

 

"Not that I'm complaining," Prompto mumbles, practically deadweight on Noctis' chest, "but what was  _that_ for?"

Noctis hums, tracing the fading lines of the last firework with his eyes. Nothing but smoke and the burnt imprint of a colorful explosion, drifting away on the wind. 

"Wanted to," he says at length, digging fingers through Prom's hair in a way that makes his eyes go half-mast and sated. "You've gone through a lot for me this weekend."

Prompto levers himself up on an elbow, that sleepy contentment blown away like the rest of those fireworks.

"I didn't do any of it for  _thanks,_ " he says forcefully, like the idea of asking for anything in return for the hundreds of little things he does for Noctis leaves a sour taste in his mouth. "I did it for _you_."

"Prom," Noctis says, as gently as he's able, "that's the point."


	6. as we roll down this unfamiliar road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 7; bed sharing

"Don't wait so long to come see us next time," mom says, giving Noctis a hug goodbye. "Are you sure you don't want Regis to drive you?"

"Our Uber's gonna be here in like two minutes," Noctis says for what feels like the tenth time. He steps aside so mom's path to Prompto is clear, and Prompto looks at him like it was an act of treachery. But he isn't fooling anyone, and his face is pleased pink when mom sweeps him up in an embrace just like the one she gave her son. 

"I loved having you here," she tells him. "You've been so good to Noctis, and it's clear how much he loves you. You're always welcome in our home, understood? Don't you dare be a stranger."

Everyone is polite enough to pretend not to notice when Prompto wipes his eyes on his sleeve.

 

* * *

 

Flying standby got them on an earlier flight, which sees them home a solid six hours ahead of schedule. Noctis suggested surprising the guys instead of calling ahead about the change of plans, and Prompto grinned and agreed, so the house they come home to is empty except for an ecstatically wriggling akita.

Prompto carries their bags as far as the kitchen before he visibly gives up on the idea of unpacking. As he abandons the luggage, the reusable grocery bags sitting on the counter seem to catch his eye.

“Ignis was probably gonna have a big dinner waiting for us,” Prompto says through a yawn, rubbing his face with his hands. “He’s gonna be so mad we ruined his plans.”

Noctis is petting Tiny mechanically, half-asleep where he’s crouched beside her.

“I know we were gonna, like,” he mumbles, “sit on the couch all smug for when they came in, but -- “

“Nap time,” Prompto says immediately, reading his mind, and leads the way upstairs.

The bedroom smells faintly like Gladio’s cologne, and the muted sunlight that manages to come slanting in through the heavy curtains at the window washes the walls in dull orange and bars of white.

Prompto doesn’t bother undressing, just climbs into bed and sinks into the duvet, face buried in Iggy’s pillow. He looks rumpled after the long flight, ungelled hair in loose disarray, and already seconds from sleep.

He’s got the right idea, Noctis thinks, and follows him in. With all this room to themselves, they still cluster together in the middle. Noctis doesn’t know how to sleep without Prompto’s weight in his arms, or the smell of his coconut shampoo under his nose.

The central air is running and the room is a little cool, but Noctis is too comfortable to worry about a blanket. Each blink is slower and heavier than the last, but he’s not quite ready to sleep yet.

Abruptly, Prompto says, “We could get a bigger house.”

“Hmm?”

“When I moved here, I kinda just picked the first place I got approved for. But this doesn’t have to be where we live.”

Noctis starts to sit up, but Prompto’s arm locks around his waist, and he has to settle for leaning back enough to look at him instead. It’s not an easy task, with Prompto’s head ducked the way it is, spills of blond covering his eyes.

“Prom?”

“I mean -- ‘cause you're used to having more room, and I'm sure Iggy and Gladio are, too, and with Talcott and Tiny -- “

“This is because you saw how huge my parent’s house is,” Noctis says dryly, worry drowned by a rush of amused understanding. “Come on, Prom. They’re both lawyers.”

“You have a _yacht._ ”

“My dad has a yacht,” Noctis counters promptly. “And I have you. Honestly, I feel sorry for him. I'm way better off.”

That earns him a sputtering laugh, and Noctis wants to _see._ He untangles their limbs and gets a hand under Prompto’s chin, tilting his face up. In the half-light of the bedroom, Prompto’s edges are soft and fuzzy, like one of the lens filters he likes to use, but there’s no mistaking the color in his cheeks, or the crooked, charming, photo-worthy smile that takes up half his face.

“That was _cheesy_ , prince charming."

“I stand by it.” 

Prompto laughs again, and this time the sound is soft and full. "I guess there's a lot more space here than there was in the caravans we used to stay in," he muses sleepily.

"And way more space than a camping tent," Noctis agrees. 

"True _that._ But y'know, it was still nice. Even living in each other's pockets the way we were. We didn't always have money for a hotel room, but we always had good company. I think I'd pick that over a comfy bed any day."

" _Now_ you're getting it," Noctis drawls, making sure he sounds enough like Ignis that Prompto groans and shoves a pillow into his face. 

 

* * *

 

When Noctis wakes up, the sunlight in the room is gone, and dinner smells are wafting in from downstairs. He stretches, and realizes that someone covered them with a blanket at some point. He can hear voices in the kitchen if he lays still and listens, the low hum of conversation over the familiar sounds of cookery. 

A glance to the side proves Prompto is still fast asleep, face pale and peaceful where it's half-hidden in his pillow.

Noctis lays there for a long moment in that liminal space between sleep and wake, just looking at the man beside him.  

Prompto gives them everything he has to offer, and he still worries it isn't enough. Like square footage is something that could make or break this living arrangement, like he's failing them if it's not perfect.

He grew up alone, in an empty house, _twice,_ and it poisoned him in a way that Noctis can't really make better. Two lives, two lonely childhoods, and there's no getting that time back, is there? 

It should be impossible, he thinks, for someone so good to have spent even a day unwanted. It isn't fair that Prompto went even a moment without love.

He reaches out, pushing some of that yellow hair out of Prom's face. His heart aches, thinking of his Prom waking up in a new world with memories of being precious to someone and going without that, starting over from scratch, searching for them for tireless years because his loyalty and his love survived in a place where even the _sun_  couldn’t.  

"Next time," Noctis whispers, "I'll find you first."


	7. it’s a better place since you came along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bonus chapter that never was

In another life, Noctis was the reason why. He was the fixed point his friends always came back to, out of duty and loyalty and love, the one they looked to first.

This time, Noctis isn’t a king and Gladio isn’t his Shield and Ignis isn’t his advisor and Prompto isn’t his Crownsguard. They’d still do anything for Noct, but they would do just as much for each other, and the dynamic they settle into is different than the one they had before.

This time Noctis is free to be twenty-one years old and deeply in love, and there’s no arranged marriage, no war, no prophecy to hold him back.

This time he laughs when Gladio rolls him into his arms in bed, goes shopping with Ignis just to carry the basket for him and hold his hand, follows Prompto around the city for hours looking for the perfect photo op, and it doesn’t cost anyone a damn thing.

 

* * *

 

Talcott comes home to stay six months after Noctis does.

At this point most of the nine-year-old’s stuff is there already, clothes and school supplies and toys having gravitated over from his foster parent’s house to his room at Prompto’s, and he moves in for good with nothing but a bookbag over his shoulder and a box beneath Gladio’s arm.

“Feels like we skipped a step,” Prompto says, fully flustered as he rubs a hand through his hair. He styled it for the occasion, those familiar, whimsical peaks of blond that do something funny to Noct’s chest, but he’s ruining it now. “I mean, at this point, you’d usually get to set up your room, right? But we did that already.”

Ignis is biting on the edges of a smile, and Gladio can’t seem to trust himself to manage that so he’s looking somewhere else entirely, but Noctis is grinning outright. Talcott looks at Prom like he built the moon in his backyard, always has, and that Prompto can be nervous at all right now is kind of adorable.

“So I guess, um — all that’s left is — “

He’s cut off with an oof as Talcott loses patience before any of the rest of them do, plowing into Prompto’s middle and wrapping his arms as tight around his new guardian as they’ll go.

“You’re supposed to say “welcome home!” And I am! Thank you!”

They were given custody of the kid and that’s enough for now, while the courts and the child advocates decide whether or not the full adoption is something they feel like granting. Prompto still looks mystified that someone could be so happy calling his house their home, but with Talcott, at least, he believes it.

“Don’t thank me, thank Iggy,” Prompto says, hugging the little guy back with equal enthusiasm. “He did all the legwork.”

“Yes,” Ignis says peacefully, “because filing paperwork is the most crucial part of establishing a home and family for a child. You had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

 

* * *

 

Gladio’s dad and his little sister come visit every now and then, and they’re pleasant company. They tease Gladio mercilessly, and compliment Ignis’ cooking with all the reverence it deserves, and make polite demands to see whatever new photos Prompto has taken since they were last here, and ask Noctis about school.

Ignis’ parents come visit exactly once, and it leaves Gladio muttering about a restraining order.

Noctis wants to make sure he’s alright, because he’s never seen such an awful expression on Ignis’ face before. But by the time he tracks Ignis down to the kitchen, Prompto’s beat him to it.

He’s sitting on the counter, and Ignis is standing between his knees, and most of the hurt from earlier is gone from Ignis’ face. Noctis leans against the doorframe to watch, his heart heavy in a way that isn’t painful, as Prompto pulls Ignis in by the belt loops and Ignis leans into him with a laugh that shakes the rest of his misery away.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Prom,” Talcott asks, “what’s the thing you miss most from before?”

Noctis eyes the kid warily, never sure how much Talcott remembers, but Prompto just hums thoughtfully.

“I got to keep all the important stuff,” he says with an easy grin, and Noctis grins back like a knee-jerk reaction. Talcott isn’t so easily appeased.

“So what’s left that you miss?”

“I’ll give you one guess,” Gladio says dryly.

Ignis is smiling at his paperwork in a way that makes it clear he’s laughing silently, and Prompto goes faintly pink.

Noctis leans over to Talcott and whispers, “Chocobos.”

“That’s a good one!” Talcott says eagerly, always ready to jump to Prompto’s defense. “Chocobos are great! Maybe we’ll find one here one day!”

“That would be pretty awesome,” Prom says, “but I dunno, buddy.”

“Why not?” Talcott finds the little cactuar figurine that gravitates throughout the house and holds it up. “He made it! And we made it! Maybe some chocobos made it, too.”

Which is actually a pretty fair argument. And Prompto’s expression is so transparently hopeful for a moment that Noctis finds himself hoping, too.

 

* * *

 

Some nights, Noctis dreams of that long march up the Citadel steps. It’s dark, and he’s walking alone, and his lovers are left behind.

He wakes up with his heart in his throat, his breath caught in his lungs, lunging upright, hand outstretched — turn around, turn around, don’t leave them, don’t let them go —

On those nights, he jostles the others awake. Gladio will reach for the light, and Ignis will reach for his glasses, and Prompto will reach for Noct.

“We have you,” Prom’s sleep-scratchy voice will say, lips moving against Noct’s neck or his cheek or his hair, wrapping warm arms around him and holding tight. “We’re here.”

 

* * *

 

Noct’s friends from school invite him out after finals, and when he shows up at their regular spot it’s with Gladio in tow.

It’s a slow night so the others have their drinks already. Noctis shakes off the rain, peeling himself out of his jacket, and Gladio says, “I’ll get us somethin’.” He presses a kiss to Noct’s damp hair before he heads for the bar.

“Hey,” Noct says by way of greeting, dropping into an empty chair, and that’s when he notices the odd way his friends are looking at him.

“Your boyfriend?” June says, trying not to smile.

“One of ‘em,” Noctis says. It’s met by surprised laughter and more than one person choking on their drink.

Gregory says, “I just— who the fuck are you Noct?”

Noctis pulls his phone out agreeably at their thunderous demands and swipes through his photos until he finds a few selfies he doesn’t mind sharing.

Noct usually doesn’t talk this much— has never really had much to say about himself— but he could talk for hours about them.

“Iggy and Prom had a PTA thing at Talcott’s school, but they said they’ll definitely come next time,” Noctis says when he finally gets his phone back. “They wanna meet you guys for some reason.”

“The feeling’s mutual, believe me,” June says. “You used to be like a ghost, and now you’re— I don’t know. Better.”

He feels better. He just didn’t realize it was something other people could see.

 

* * *

 

Gladio throws the front door open with enough force to rattle the windows, a good two hours before he was supposed to be off work.

“Prom,” he says, chest heaving, “the artist is gonna be there today. She’s on her way now.”

Which means nothing to Noctis, and similarly Ignis stands there with a puzzled frown, but Prompto shoots up with a gasp.

“She’ll— really? I’m— hold on, let me get my shoes, I’m coming!”

So, naturally, they all go.

Prompto makes a distressed noise when they arrive, because the place where his favorite painting used to hang is empty. The area is roped off, and two museum employees are putting up a new canvas in careful, gloved hands.

A young woman with long gray hair and folded arms is supervising their every move critically.

“Do you need me to do the heavy-lifting, boys?” she says and Prompto jerks like he’s been shocked.

A moment later he’s ducking the rope and running ahead, Gladio grabbing for him a second too late, and the woman turns with narrow green eyes.

Whatever Noctis is expecting, it’s not recognition. Her sharp face softens, and she uncrosses her arms in time for Prompto to meet her with a hug.

“Hey, shortcake,” she says.

The new painting behind them is a landscape of snow.

 

* * *

 

When the adoption finally goes through, Talcott Argentum rides home on Gladio’s shoulders, laughing every step of the way.

They invite Cindy, Luna and Ravus over for a celebratory dinner, and the kids take over the family room while the adults shelter in the kitchen. Tiny begs for bites of chicken at Prompto’s feet, and Gladio puts leftovers away while Ignis starts running dishwater, and Noctis says, “I was thinking.”

“Gods help us,” Ignis says.

“No, listen. Why should Talcott be the only one who gets Prom’s name? That’s not fair.”

“I’m not adopting you,” Prompto says immediately.

“Obviously. Marry me instead.”

Prompto drops his sandwich and loses it to the dog. His face turns a really delightful shade of red, and he seems to forget how to speak.

Gladio doesn’t.

“Hold the damn phone,” he demands, “why the hell should you get to marry him?”

“I’m his best friend!”

Prompto hides his face in his hands.Ignis clears his throat and looks over at the other two archly.

“If you’ll remember,” he says with playful severity, “I was here first.”

Noctis has to pry Prompto’s hands down from his face. He rubs away the tears there, kisses the damp, sticky skin beneath his eyes, says, “Love you, Prom.”

Prompto laughs, puffy-eyed and rumpled in Gladio’s hoodie and so pretty it’s hard to look away. “I’d marry you guys a million times.”

 

* * *

 

In another life, Noctis was a star and his friends were planets pulled into his orbit.

This time, the one they come back to is Prompto.


End file.
